Tequila
by Lady Abbess
Summary: A friend is gone forever and they wallow in sorrow. Hermione. Harry. Ronald.


_**I do not own Harry Potter. I still cannot get used to editing stories here so please bear with the format.  
**_

**Tequila  
**

_There is no greater sorrow than to recall, in misery, the time when we were happy._

- Dante (1265-1321) Inferno

Hermione Granger was very much not the type to sit on the back porch of her house, drinking more than a handful of shots of tequila at 11 o' clock in the evening. But her common sense had left her early on in the day and she skipped work, avoided all her co-workers at her Ministry job, warded her house, bought a bottle of liquor, and cried herself senseless. She was pretty much being stupid and she knew that she'd hate herself when she wakes up the next day with a massive hangover, it was just that she needed the time alone and the stupidity. There was no way she would feel completely normal ever again.

How could she? That redheaded oaf of a best friend, gangly tall, freckled Ronald Weasley, had managed to get himself snuffed by some punks on the job. There was a reason why she didn't want him or Harry to be Aurors but no, he and Harry Potter declared that they knew how to take care of themselves. It was foolish to believe them. It was completely foolish to think that they're indestructible and too young to die.

After all that they've been through, after Voldemort and all, it was the wand work and brainless spell-casting of a juvenile delinquent that killed Ron. It was damn ironic and a bad joke, she wouldn't be able to get over it; no number of tequila bottles would help her.

They just couldn't get a break, not her, not Ron, not even Harry. Even if they had fought hard in the war to be able to survive, reality comes back to bite you hard on the ass, everyone dies eventually anyway. Truthfully, she once wished that they could just live forever. It seems that she didn't have much luck on that. Smiling sadly, she tipped the mouth of the bottle to her glass, poured herself a new drink. She looked upwards and raised her glass to the skies, remembering. She didn't even get to tell him that she loved him, "Bloody hell, Ronald."

_I have had sorrows… but I have borne them ill._

_I have broken where I should have bent._

- Charles Dickens (1812-1870) Barnaby Rudge

Harry shook his head as he worked to break another one of Hermione's bloody wards, his coat feeling sticky and was clinging on to his skin. If he was in a better mood, he would've spouted off one foul word in several different ways and when he was done, cursed his best friend to oblivion for being such a pain. But he understood what she was going through, he was grieving as well. In fact, he went to the Burrow and he visited the Weasley family, offered his condolences and hugged Molly Weasley the tightest and most heartfelt that he could. It was a huge blow for her to lose another son, then he headed to Ron's room afterwards to vent his frustrations and to dwell on his anger and his pain, it had helped. He was thinking a lot better.

He found her on the hammock tied to two trees near her porch, hugging an empty bottle in her arms. She had tears streaks all over her face, eye bags and simply a tired, defeated aura. She cried herself to sleep, the silly girl, and he felt a little sadder. They all thought that things would be better and they'd live in peace and happiness but they were naïve.

Taking the bottle from his friend, he ignored her stirring and mumbling and he prodded her right arm, willing her to wake. "Hermione," He said, "It's time to wake up, 'Mione."

She stirred and opened her eyes, looked at him, and he thought she was going to cry again. Whispering Ron's name, she sat up and hung her head. Hermione did not cry, she was strong again, ever steadfast. He patted her arm and then gestured that they go inside so they both could have breakfast, the smell of tequila wasn't doing his morning any good, it made his head hurt as he remembered the times he and Ron drank too much and experimented with their liquor. They had good laughs. He wondered if he could laugh like before again.

"Cold," She told him and took him out of his reverie, "Coat, now."

"Yes."

_The only cure for grief is action_.

- George Henry Lewis (1817-1878)

He helped her into the living room and they entered the kitchen, bemoaned the lack of proper food and settled at the table with some bread, jam and cold milk. Ron's absence stuck out like a sore thumb, it hurt them a little bit more, and they both looked down at their food, at a loss for words. Then Hermione took a deep breath and told him that she loved Ron more than just a brother, he told her that he knew. She smiled bitterly and they talked a bit more, remembering and hurting. It might take a while before they feel whole again.

_They who go_

_Feel not the pain of parting; it is they_

_Who stay behind that suffer_.

- Henry W. Longfellow (1807-1882) Michael Angelo


End file.
